


Imperial Purple

by DrinkwaterDrinkwine



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrinkwaterDrinkwine/pseuds/DrinkwaterDrinkwine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Inspector Jack Robinson goes hunting for silk and stumbles across Lin Chung and a kidnapping. Phryne gets involved (of course).</p><p>What could happen after slimwhistler's "Nomenclature."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jack sat on the same piano bench where he and his wife (his _wife_ —he scarcely dared think the word, it was still too new, too foreign, too un-Phryne) had once sung “Let’s Misbehave.” Look where their misbehaving landed them. Not that he minded.

His long fingers splayed across the keys, coaxing the languid chords of Gershwin’s _Prelude No. 2_ from the piano. The sound brought to mind the image of a black cat sauntering along a fence line, tail curled like a question mark and waving back and forth, back and forth, in the intense heat of Melbourne in high summer. Or of Phryne, naked and flatfooted on the green marble bathroom floor, hands supporting the small of her back and thrusting her rounded belly and now full breasts (he was enjoying those) forward as she swayed towards the large clawfoot tub full of cool, chestnut blossom-scented water. She was ripening like a honey mango in the sun.

He was distracted from his reverie by the creaking of the kitchen door and the rapping of low Oxford heels on the tiled foyer, which announced the presence of Mrs. Hugh Collins, a title which still made her beam like a newlywed. “Mrs. Collins?” Jack called.

“Good evening, Inspector. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but I was just dropping off another frock I let out for Miss Phryne.” She gestured to the bundle neatly wrapped in brown paper.

“She’s taking a bath at the moment. Would you care to sit?” He gestured at one of the upholstered chairs. “Maybe a glass of sherry?”

“Well, my mother is watching the little ones, so I suppose I can. Thank you.” Dot hung her brown coat and hat trimmed with an orange floral ribbon on the coatrack and returned to the parlor to settle into the soft, upholstered chair. She took an uncharacteristic pause to stretch her legs and pop her ankles. Children were a blessing, but they were certainly a lot of effort. She thanked the inspector as he passed her a green crystal sherry glass filled just a bit higher than customary.

“Mrs. Collins, forgive me if this sounds impertinent, but I was wondering if you found a suitable dressing gown for when you were nearing the end of your…ah…term?”

She blushed prettily. “My mother found a gown for me at Foy and Gibson. They have a rather good selection for…” Inspector Robinson might be a part of the family, but she would not, could not say the word pregnant in front of her husband’s superior, “mothers.”

“Ah. Thank you, Mrs. Collins. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Oh no, sir!” Dot’s voice filled with horror. “You can’t possibly buy anything for Miss Phryne from there. She’d never forgive me!” Jack gave her a puzzled look. “Foy’s is all cheap art silk or flannel.”

Jack nodded his head in acquiescence but gave a mental shrug. He did not mind shopping at Foy and Gibson’s for the occasional shirt, smalls, or socks. Then again, he made no claims to Phryne’s levels of sartorial elegance, although she had been slowly but steadily augmenting his wardrobe with nicer suits and ties. He insisted upon keeping his older clothes for policework—they were less conspicuous and more suited to the dirtier jobs (although he still left most of those to Senior Constable Collins).

“Well then, Mrs. Collins, where would you recommend for the procurement of a suitable dressing gown?”

“House of Fleuri,” Dot replied emphatically and without hesitation.

His repressed grimace reminded her that while Inspector Robinson might be married to and living with a titled lady of no small means, he still earned only a policeman’s modest salary, and he was not the type of man to charge a gift for his wife on her account. Even a basic robe from House of Fleuri would cost him months of pay. Dot backpedaled to help him save face (even the most humble of men needed their pride, her mother always said).

“Although I hear that the shops on Little Bourke Street are carrying some of the most exquisite silks right now, and House of Fleuri has nothing quite like them. And with dressing gowns, the fabric is more important than any embellishments. If you bought some silk from there, I’d be happy to sew a dressing gown for Miss Phryne.”

Jack smiled at Dot’s generosity. With two children still in nappies, taking the time to piece together a dressing gown was a considerable sacrifice. “Only if you think you can spare the time…”

She cut him off. “It’s the least I can do to thank you and Miss Phryne for all the help you’ve given Hugh and me.” She pulled a scrap of paper from her handbag and scrawled an address on it. “I’m not sure the shop name since all the signs are all in Chinese, but this is the one Miss Phryne likes.” She handed him her note then polished off the last of her sherry. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Inspector, I need to drop this frock off and then get home to fee…” Oh goodness, she was just about to mention, however obliquely, breastfeeding in front of the Inspector. That would never do.

“I’m sure your family is expecting you,” Jack said kindly. “And thank you ever so much. I’ll pick something up tomorrow and give it to Hugh on Monday if I don’t see you before then.”

Dot whisked up the stairs with the frock, and Jack returned to the piano and his Gershwin. He might never quite forgive the Americans for getting to the fight so late and then claiming all the glory, but he had to admit that no one did jazz quite like them. Maybe he could find a recording of this and convince Phryne to dance a nice, lazy dance with him. In her new dressing gown.

******

After lunch the next day—lobster mayonnaise, again, and while he had never thought he would grow tired of lobster mayonnaise, he also never thought he would have a pregnant wife who could afford to eat lobster mayonnaise as often as she craved—he left Phryne napping in front of a fan and headed to Little Bourke Street. It was unusually quiet for a Sunday afternoon, although he suspected that many of its usual inhabitants had snuck off to the seaside to catch the cooler breezes. The heat radiating off the cobblestones intensified the foreign smells: garlic, ginger, sesame oil, and a dozen other scents he could not name. 

The signs in red and gold were covered in the strange Chinese script, which he had learned were more pictograms representing discrete words or ideas rather than letters. The thought of learning to read a language that had thousands of characters was unfathomable, and he thanked his stars for twenty-six letters in a phonetic alphabet. As he wandered the street in search of the correct shop number, he pondered what his collected Shakespeare would look like translated into Chinese. Could it even be translated properly? 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of “88” in gold numbers above a carved door painted red and bolts of cloth filling the plate glass windows to either side. He depressed the handle and swung the door open into the dim store, a small, discordant chime announcing his presence. And came face to face with Lin Chung, Phryne’s former lover.

The look of surprise that rapidly turned to fury in the other man’s face arrested Jack on the threshold, before Lin grabbed his arm and hauled him into the shop. The door slammed behind them.

“Now what…” Jack began to demand.

“Who called you? What the hell are you doing here? Don’t you know they’ll kill her?” Lin’s typically refined voice nearly screeched with hysteria.

Jack quickly scanned the shop for other people, but they were alone. Her? His first thoughts turned towards Phryne and their child, but he rapidly dismissed that. She had not seen Lin in years. Lin’s, how did Phryne put it, Communist fighter bride? His grandmother? (That was unlikely.) “I’m sorry, who?”

“My little Iris,” Lin wailed. “My daughter!”

“She’s missing?”

“Kidnapped! And unless we pay the ransom—and we can’t involve the police—” he glared at Jack, “they’ll kill her.”

“Mr. Lin, if you came down to the station, perhaps we could do a better job of getting your daughter back.”

“No! Don’t you understand? They said no police, and when the Triad says ‘No police,’ they mean it. She’s probably already dead.” The poor father’s face blanched at the thought.. “And it’s your fault!” He turned accusing, red-rimmed eyes on the inspector, and tears began spilling down his cheeks.

Jack’s analytical mind had already begun piecing together a rough sketch of events. It was obvious that someone, possibly the Chinese Triad if Lin’s story were to be believed, had kidnapped Lin Chung and Camellia’s daughter for ransom. Lin was either waiting to pay the ransom or had paid it and was waiting for his daughter’s return. And Jack’s innocent shopping trip had inadvertently endangered the little girl since his figure was well-known to the Melbourne gangs.

He looked at the weeping, broken figure of Lin Chung and felt some mild distaste for the man’s complete loss of composure. Then he thought about his own unborn child, about how devastated he would feel if harm should come to him or her, and compassion flooded his heart.

“Mr. Lin, I only came in to buy some silk for my…that is…Miss Fisher.” Lin, in his anguish, only half-cocked an eyebrow at the name. “No one called me about your daughter’s kidnapping. But,” Jack continued, “it seems that since I am now involved, however unintentionally, I can be of some service in this matter.”

Lin pulled a crinkled handkerchief from his jacket and wiped his face clear. He drew a deep breath and then folded it neatly into a square, stowed it, and straightened his tie. “Please forgive me, Inspector Robinson, for my baseless accusations. This is a dreadful situation and has us all overwrought.”

The apology was well meant and cost the man some measure to offer it. “Thank you. Now, what can you tell me about the kidnapping and the kidnappers?”

“It’s entirely my fault, really.” Lin paused to take a steadying breath. “The storm last week knocked a tree down onto our compound wall, and I did not insist upon its immediate removal and repairs to the fence. That must have been how the kidnappers snuck into the house. They took little Iris from her bed while we were at the theater, Gilbert and Sullivan’s _Iolanthe_. The nanny was listening to the radio and didn’t hear a thing. They left a note in her cradle that warned us not to contact the police.”

“And you heard from them again…” Jack encouraged.

“Yesterday we received a letter in the afternoon post. It was written on cheap paper and sent from the City Central Post Office. It said that if we wanted to see Iris alive again, we couldn’t call the police and had to pay a ransom of five thousand pounds. They would call here this afternoon with instructions. They said they’d be watching us.”

“And did they identify themselves as Triad?”

“Yes. They signed their note with their symbol.”

That was worrying, indeed. Melbourne already had enough fighting between the local Australian gangs, the militant communists, the Russians, the Italian Mafia, and the Irish. Throwing an Oriental gang into the mix was sure to make things even bloodier, although Jack was not too concerned about how the Triad would fare if the other gangs united against the “yellow fever.” They were rumored to be vicious fighters.

“Do you have the letters with you?”

“No. They’re at home with Camellia. And they’re written in Chinese, so you won’t get much from them.”

Jack was not so sure, but he decided not to belabor the issue for the moment. The most pressing matter was to make it out of the shop unnoticed. No, noticed, so any look-outs would think that he had finished his errand and not gotten involved. “Mr. Lin, do you have anyone you trust who is about my height?”

Lin gave the Inspector an appraising glance. “My cousin Lin Huang, he goes by Tommy. He’s in the stockroom.” Lin disappeared for a moment, and Jack took the chance to divest himself of hat and jacket. Lin reappeared with Tommy, who while not quite as broad in the shoulders, could probably make a passable Jack Robinson in hat and overcoat (good thing he wore it in spite of the heat) from a distance. And Tommy was fortunately also wearing navy trousers and scuffed brown shoes. That made things a little less awkward. Otherwise he would be standing in front of Phryne’s former lover in his smalls.

Jack shook Tommy’s hand. “Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. Good to meet you. Now, please put these on,” he passed the bundle of clothes to Tommy, “and, Mr. Lin, I need a bolt of silk to send with him back to Miss Fisher’s house. He can’t leave empty handed.”

Lin grabbed the nearest bolt, a cheap, showy red that would impress less discerning Australians looking for something “foreign” to wear but would not be appreciated by Phryne. Jack’s face must have fallen slightly, for Lin reassured him, “Inspector, you shall have your pick of silk once this is settled and my daughter is safely home. Rest assured, I know exactly what Miss Fisher would have to say about this.” Yes, he would. And when all this was said and done, Jack would need to have a word with a certain lady’s companion about the suitability of sending him to his wife’s former lover’s warehouse to buy fabric for a maternity dressing gown. But that was for another time. He penned a quick note to Phryne, hoping for innocuous ambiguity so that she would not involve herself, and slipped it into the parcel.

Tommy pulled Jack’s hat low over his eyes and gathered the wrapped bundle against him. “Tommy, catch the tram to St. Kilda., the Esplanade. Here’s my key. The house is 221, and it has a ‘B’ after the number.” Tommy’s eyes lit in recognition of the reference. “Go in the front door, just like I would, just in case someone follows you the entire way. And keep a discreet eye out, see if you can see them. Give the parcel and my things to Mr. Butler, and leave out the back door. Got all that?”

The young man nodded his head earnestly. “Just like an Irregular.”

Lin added his own instructions, “When you return, come through the warehouse entrance.”

“Yes, Cousin Lin.” The door chimed as he set out.

“And now, Inspector Robinson?” Lin Chung queried.

“And now we wait.”

*****

Jack settled himself on the floor behind the counter. Their deception would not do any good if a Triad were to look into the shop and see him still there. 

“Cup of tea, Inspector?” Lin called from a back room.

“No thank you, Mr. Lin. It’s too hot. I don’t know why I ever left the house with that overcoat today. 

“Force of habit, I guess. And the tea is iced.”

“Iced?” Jack sounded incredulous.

Lin carried in two glasses of straw-colored liquid liberally peppered with shards of floating ice. Beads of condensation were already making them slick to the touch. “Chrysanthemum tea. Very cooling.”

Jack shrugged and accepted the glass. He had tried odder things before. And few of them quite so refreshing, he thought. Mild and lightly sweetened; nothing at all like the stewed tea heavy with milk and sugar that he preferred. Phryne might like this, too.

“Very nice, Mr. Lin. Thank you.”

“Camellia drank this all last summer while she was carrying our little Iris. I grew rather accustomed to it, and Iris likes it, too.” His face clouded.

“Tell me about her, please,” instructed Jack.

“She’s still a baby. Why do you need to know?”

“Understanding what she means to you will help me understand her kidnappers better,” Jack explained. And also keep you distracted from your misery, he added mentally.

“Well, Inspector, she’s our only child. Will be our only child. Camellia nearly died giving birth to her—she’s such a small woman and there were complications. I had hoped for a son, but when I nearly lost them both,” his voice faltered, “that seemed not to matter.”

“But why kidnap a daughter? I thought Chinese families picked a nephew to inherit if there were no sons in the immediate family.”

“I might be Chinese, Inspector Robinson, but I’m also Australian. Strictly patriarchal society has only so much relevance in the modern world. I made no secret of naming my daughter as my heir, and as I am the patriarch of my family, they had to accept it.” He caught Jack’s twitching lip. “Yes, I can appreciate the irony of that, Inspector.”

“So is it possible that a disgruntled family member orchestrated Iris’s kidnapping?”

“No,” Lin denied flatly. “None would be so brash or defiant.”

The phone rang, and Lin stopped breathing. “Calmly, man,” Jack cautioned. “You must be strong for your daughter.”

Lin picked up the enamel receiver with trembling hands. “Hello?” His voice was unsure, frightened. Then an all too familiar voice poured out, and Jack groaned and buried his face in his hands. Phryne was far too clever for her own good sometimes.

“She wants to speak to you.” Lin passed the handset down to Jack, who rolled his eyes.

“Jack,” the voice on the other end of the line assumed a rather imperious tone, “what are you doing sending me such dreadful silk via such a curiously dressed courier?”

“Miss Fisher,” he greeted her dryly.

“And why send such a cryptic message with the parcel? As if I couldn’t deduce that you were at the Lin warehouse by the stamp on their parcel paper.”

“I assure you, Phryne, that I had no intention of concealing my whereabouts from you. I was merely pressed for time.”

“You must be, to have picked such a virulent shade of red. Were you trying to recreate your costume as Third Pirate? There’s no other use for…”

“Phryne,” Jack cut her off, “Mr. Lin and I are dealing with a time-sensitive matter that also requires use of the telephone. I’d ask you to postpone your critique of our color selection until later, please.”

“That sounds rather serious, Jack. Do you need the services of a Lady Detective? I can be there in no time in the Hispano.” Jack heard her call towards the kitchen, “Mr. B! Could you bring round the car?” Lin apparently heard it, too, if Jack interpreted the look of shock on his face correctly.

“Phryne. Phryne,” Jack called insistently, trying to grab her attention through the line.

“Yes, Jack. I’ll be right there.”

“Phryne, please...”

“Jack, I’m perfectly capable of fitting behind the wheel. I’ll even drive the speed limit, if you insist, although it will take me a little longer. No need to worry about me or the baby.”

“Phryne,” the insistence in his voice finally made her pause, “it’s not our baby I’m worried about, but the Lin’s. If you must get involved, and I really rather you didn’t but know better, please go to the Lin’s home and ask Camellia for the ransom notes. Maybe you can find something out from them.”

“Ransom notes? Jack!”

“Yes. Now I really must hang up. Please find out what you can from Camellia.”

“Yes, darling, and Jack, do be safe.”

I love you, too, he thought as she rang off. As he looked up to reassure Lin Chung that the indomitable Miss Fisher would not be drawing even more attention to the shop, he noticed that he had, in fact, misinterpreted Lin’s look, for it was still etched across his face while his eyes remained fixated on Jack’s wedding band.

“Miss Fisher, or rather _Mrs_. _Robinson_?” Lin’s tone was caught somewhere between anger and awe, and Jack had the good manners to look somewhat abashed at his lie by omission.

“Still Miss Fisher, but also my wife,” he said a bit too brusquely. Why, after all, should he be apologizing to this man for marrying his former lover?

“I’m sorry, Inspector. I meant no offense, and that seems to be all I’m giving today.”

The phone chose that opportune moment to ring, to Jack’s immense relief. He understood the strain on Lin, made all the worse by his inconvenient arrival and their tangled history with the Honourable Phryne Fisher. Still, he was tired of accepting apologies.

“Hello?” This time Lin sounded more confident. The shock of learning that Miss Fisher, who had sworn to him that she could never bind herself to any man, had done just that had the same effect as being thrown into an icy pond: very bracing.

Lin shifted into Cantonese immediately, giving terse replies to what sounded like instructions, and hung up moments later.

“I heard Iris crying in the background, so she’s alive,” he said in a voice laden with relief.

“And?” Jack, too, felt some measure of reprieve, although he did not reveal it. Of all the crimes he had investigated, child kidnappings gone wrong were the most heartbreaking, and he could not have borne breaking the news to Phryne. Not when she was pregnant with their own child, not after Janey.

“They want me to meet them at the wharves near my receiving warehouse, and then they’ll take me to her.”

“When?”

“Midnight.”

“Did you recognize the voice?”

“No. It was muffled.”

Jack’s mouth set itself into a firm line. None of this was making sense. If this were a Triad operation, the ransom sum of five thousand pounds, while significant to most people, would be but a mere drop in the bucket of the organization’s rumored funds. That they would coerce him into becoming a front for their smuggled goods seemed a far more likely scenario. And if it were a disgruntled family member upset at Iris’s claim to the considerable Lin fortune, they would likely have killed her…and were likely to kill Lin if he went with them.

Time. He needed more time to figure this out, and time he did not have. He hoped Phryne would have gleaned something from Camellia and the scene of the kidnapping.

The clock on the wall continued ticking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which family ties prove somewhat tricky, and Jack takes on a new role.

A breathless figure burst through the door from warehouse into the shop. “Cousin Lin,” he panted, “I might know something!” Tommy was barely recognizable beneath the soot smeared over his face and hands.

Jack pushed a chair towards the young man, urging him to catch his breath so he could gain some coherency. Lin thrust his handkerchief into one hand and a glass of chrysanthemum tea into the other, and soon Tommy had recovered enough to recount his tale.

“Well I kept my head down leaving Little Bourke Street so no one here would recognize me, and I kept hearing footsteps behind me. I tried to catch a glimpse in the windows I passed, but I was worried about being too obvious so I didn’t dally much.”

Jack nodded his head in approval. Discretion was always the better part of valor, to say nothing of good police work.

“Then I caught the tram to St. Kilda and made my way to the back to keep an eye out for people getting on or off. Well, I noticed a bloke who looked familiar hail a cab, and it began to follow the tram. I thought that was pretty odd. I mean, why pay for a cab when a tram could take you the same direction for much less?”

“Yes, yes, go on,” Lin chided impatiently.

“So I got off the tram, and the cab was still following me, and it stopped too. I walked through the front door of your house, Inspector, just like you said, and gave a pretty lady with light brown hair quite the scare. But she noticed your hat and coat and took the parcel from me. I guess strange guests aren’t much of a rarity at your house, sir.”

“Mrs. Collins has a good head on her shoulders, Tommy. Please continue.”

“Well, I shucked off the disguise and ran around the back, smearing my face and hands with coal from the hopper so he still wouldn’t recognize me, and—wouldn’t you know—it was Billo Smythe from the docks,” he proclaimed triumphantly.

Lin registered only confusion on his face, but Jack recognized the name. William “Billo” Smythe had loose ties to one of Melbourne’s minor wharfie gangs. He could have been muscle for hire, but Jack had interrogated him once before over a matter of a few missing boxes of automotive parts. That case had Phryne particularly upset, since her order of new spark plugs and belts for the Hispano were in the shipment. (Jack never could determine what was so very special about those specific items, which seemed generic to him, but he was no proud Hispano owner.) But Billo was a shifty character, and Jack was unable to pin anything on him. However, he had been overheard in the lock-up boasting to a drunk that he would not be wasting his time on such a paltry pay-off when he had much larger fish on the hook.

Maybe he had found his break.

And fortunately Jack knew where he lived.

*****

Phryne had decided that the Hispano was too ostentatious, so she had summoned Bert and Cec with their cab instead. They were idling out front, but Phryne was still in her boudoir trying to fit into the latest frock Dot had altered for her.

“That’s it, Miss. Just one last button,” Dot said cheerfully. 

Phryne felt anything but cheerful. She looked at her profile in the mirror. Definitely not cheerful. She looked like a striped whale. She turned a bit more to catch a glimpse of her backside—maybe she did not look so wide from behind—when the distinct sound of a ripping seam emanated from her right side.

“Well that literally tears it, Dot! We’ll just have to call Madame Fleuri to have her rush those new frocks, but we haven’t the time right now. Is there anything else in that dratted closet that I can still fit into?” She shed the ruined dress with a huff. Good riddance to bad rubbish, she thought. She did not care for that dress much even when it fit properly.

Dot rifled through the small selection left on hangars, shaking her head.

“Then give me one of Jack’s shirts.”

“But, Miss…”

“And the red skirt—that should fit under this belly. Also the long silk scarf Jack bought me in Paris. Flat sandals, too,” Phryne ordered in a no-nonsense tone. Dot did not take it to heart; she remembered feeling cross when her clothes had stopped fitting. Poor Hugh.

Phryne buttoned up Jack’s shirt (his smell never quite left them) and cuffed the sleeves. Then she wound the scarf around the skirt waistband and a little over her belly, mostly to keep the skirt in place, but she would not let on about that. Dot helped with her shoes while Phryne donned a straw hat. Then out the door she marched, conventional fashion be damned. She was the Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective, and there was a kidnapping to solve.

In no time at all—although not in no time flat, since the cab did not make quite the same speeds she did in her Hispano, and they had to make sure they were not followed—Phryne disembarked outside Lin Chung and Camellia’s non-descript compound. Only the carved door revealed that a Chinese family lived within the walls, and even it, too, was relatively modest, as if to say, move along, nothing to be seen, nothing worthwhile in here.

As one of the many Lin cousins ushered her inside, Phryne amended a quaint proverb: Books should not be judged by their covers, and Chinese compounds not by their walls. The courtyard garden at the heart of the dwelling passed in a flash of color, shape, and texture, but Phryne saw Camellia’s elegant touch had transformed it into an urban oasis (other than the flurry of activity in the corner where men were clearing a felled tree from the wall). Jack would enjoy it. Quickly, too, she passed intricately carved panels, graceful tables and cabinets, delicate porcelains, and everywhere bursts of radiant color from the primary Lin import: silk. Another day, at a less dangerous time, she would love to wander the many rooms to marvel at the treasures therein. 

Suddenly Phryne found herself surrounded by gauzy, pale pink curtains trimmed in lace, stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes, including one particularly jolly panda bear, and a magnificent gilded rocking horse. The very European style of what was obviously a little girl’s room jarred with the rest of the house and the slim, weeping woman at the center of the room.

Other than her puffy eyes and distraught expression, Camellia was just as lovely as the day Lin Chung brought her to Phryne’s to hide her from Granny Lin, who was also present in the room and stony-faced. Phryne nodded at the matriarch and rushed to take Camellia’s hands.

“My dear, dear Camellia. I just heard the dreadful news, and I’ve come to help.”

Her condolences brought another wave of tears down Camellia’s pale face, but she nodded her head in thanks. 

It was Granny Lin who spoke, “This is not a matter for you, but Lin Chung insists you help find our Yuanweihua. Our Iris.” She stalked out, resolved to have as little to do with the Fox Spirit as possible. 

“Camellia,” Phryne put her hands on the petite woman’s shoulders, “now tell me what happened, please.”

The mother sniffled then dried her eyes with Phryne’s proffered handkerchief. “Lin and I were at the theater. I had put Iris down for the night, and she was asleep right here.” Her hand patted the blanketed cradle.

“And her nanny, the others in the compound? Where were they?”

“The nanny was in the kitchen having tea and listening to the radio. The younger cousins were at the cinema or the carnival at the foreshore. The older aunties and uncles are in the country at our farm garden to escape the heat. So there was no one to hear her,” Camellia ended her statement with a wail.

“So how did the kidnappers get in?”

Camellia walked Phryne back into the garden and gestured at the tree. “They must have come through the there. They climbed the branches. We’d usually have cleared it when it first happened, but…” The reason was lost in another bout of weeping.

Phryne picked her way down a gravel path to examine the evidence. It was not much of a tree, a tallish jacaranda which would have blossomed into the loveliest purple blooms in the spring. It had done little injury to the wall with its delicate upper branches, and Phryne noticed that none except for the ones directly against the wall showed much damage. Unless the kidnappers were cats or ghosts, they had not used this tree to get in.

“And did they leave any notes?”

“Yes, one. And we received another yesterday in the mail.” Camellia took Phryne into her own room with its very traditional (so Lin must be the doting father who ordered pink curtains for his daughter’s room), very lovely furnishings, and produced the two letters. They were written in hanzi, so the words meant little to Phryne. Cheap paper that could be purchased anywhere. She sniffed at the paper. Cheap ink. And a hint of something else that tickled her nose with its familiarity. Opium, ever so faint.

She looked up, and her eyes lit upon a silk-backed scroll decorated with blossoms and graced with exquisite calligraphy. One particular character caught her eye. “Camellia, what does this say?”

"That? It’s just part of a poem:

_Tender orchid-leaves in spring_  
_And cinnamon- blossoms bright in autumn_  
_Are as self-contained as life is,_  
_Which conforms them to the seasons._  


Lin’s uncle, poor man, made it for me as a wedding present. He knew I liked gardening.” Her face sported a sad smile. “Why do you ask?”

“One more question first: Why did you say ‘poor man?’” Phryne had her suspicions.

“Oh, he, like Lin’s father, took to opium. We haven’t seen him since before Iris was born, but his son, Tommy, works in our warehouse. Is that relevant?”

“I should say so, Camellia. Look at this character here,” Phryne pointed to one on the scroll, “and then look at this character here.” She gestured to an identical one on the second letter.

“Oh! Orchid and iris have a common character. That’s Iris’s name here in the letter, and that’s orchid here on the scroll.” Camellia’s face grew rather animated as she reached the same conclusion as Phryne. “Are you saying that Uncle Lin Feng is a part of this?” Then her face froze in horror. “Tommy is at the warehouse with Lin and Inspector Robinson!”

*****

The phone rang as Jack and Lin began planning how to sneak out of the warehouse to track down Billo Smythe. 

Lin answered it, hoping it was not the kidnappers calling with new instructions, greater demands, or worse. Then the spirited voice of Miss Fisher rolled across his consciousness, and he gladly put Jack on the line as requested. She was magnificent, his former Silver Lady, but he had grown accustomed to his deceptively demure “Communist fighter bride.” Once he may have thrown all caution to the wind, forsaken his duty to his family, and done something scandalous like run off with the Honourable Phryne Fisher. Now, however, he found that his once-burdensome duty had settled onto his shoulders less like Atlas’s stone and more like the mantle of a king. And he acknowledged that with Phryne, she would have worn the mantle while he played the courtier.

He gave Jack an appraising glance. This man, this man with his scuffed brown shoes and his own conflicting duties, somehow managed to share that mantle and took his place by her side as an equal. Not that Lin had ever felt unequal to Phryne Fisher. But somehow, he still felt relieved. 

Jack hung up and looked about sharply. “Where’s Tommy?”

“I sent him to clean up.”

“His father wrote the notes,” Jack commented tersely.

“What? How do they…no, that impossible…” Lin trailed off. It was unthinkable. That a man should threaten a member of his own family attested to some great measure of hatred or desperation. Lin had been as compassionate as he could, but he could not tolerate an opium addict in his home—especially not with Camellia pregnant. And things, small things but valuable nonetheless, had still been going missing. But what was the kidnapping of a child other than a grander form of theft?

He tackled Tommy as he came whistling through the door, pinning him to the floor and swiping a blow at his head. “Where is she?” he demanded. “You’re in on this, too! You made the whole Billo thing up,” he railed.

Jack grabbed Lin’s arms from behind and hauled him off the stunned young man. Blood poured from Tommy’s formerly straight nose, and he scrabbled to his feet and backed away like a wounded animal.

Lin continued to yell, “After all that we did for you? Taking you in when your father would have had you living on the streets and stealing to pay for his opium? Trusting you in our home? Did you think…”

“Cousin,” Tommy interrupted, pleading. “Cousin. I had no part in this. I abhor my father’s addiction as much as you did your father’s. I would never…I could never…” He broke down sobbing in shame. “I would give my own life if it meant getting your daughter back. You must believe me.”

“You swear you had no part in this?” Jack demanded. He searched the boy’s face for any trace of deception, any hint of falsehood but saw only frank honesty.

“I swear on my ancestors.”

“And Billo? You made none of that up?”

“No. That’s true, too. He followed me, well you, back to your house. He’s involved in this.”

“How would he know your father? Why would they be working together on this?”

“Father would hang around at the docks and see what he could steal from the Lin shipments. Most of the wharfies never questioned him because he looked like one of us,” Tommy explained. “He must have met Billo there, recruited him.”

“And what would be your father’s motive?”

“Money,” Lin interrupted, finally calm. Jack released his arms. “I cut him off from the family funds entirely. I wasn’t going to have him waste it on opium. Although I suspect he’s been the one pilfering from our home. He must have had a key made.”

“Cousin…I…I’m so ashamed. If I had known…I’ll pay for—”

“Gentlemen,” Jack interjected, “this conversation, however important, can happen later, but at this moment we have a little girl to rescue.” This called the two cousins to task, and they looked to him with a renewed sense of purpose. “Now, Tommy, do you know where your father lives? If he’s in the Chinatown environs, it’s unlikely they’d be keeping Iris there, but we need to make sure.”

“Yes, sir. It’s just a few blocks away, dingy apartment down an alley. I check on him a couple times a week to make sure he has food and some clean things to wear.”

"Very good. Do you think you can swing by under that same pretext?”

“Certainly. I usually do on Sundays anyway.”

“Good man,” Jack complimented.

“Better take something with you, too,” Lin reminded. “Grab what you need from the back.” With that, Tommy slipped out the back door. It was a shame, really, that he took little enjoyment from the import-export business, Lin reflected. His diligence and initiative would have made him an excellent second.

“Now, if you’ll loan me the use of your phone, I need to make a call, Mr. Lin,” Jack requested. Lin nodded deferentially at the detective.

The operator put Jack through to the Collins’ residence, and Dot’s concerned voice answered the line. “Inspector, this is such dreadful news. The Lin’s are such lovely people, and this is a terrible thing to happen to them. I’ve been saying the rosary for them, although,” she sounded puzzled, “I don’t know if applies.”

“I’m sure it helps all the same, Mrs. Collins,” Jack reassured her. “Now I hate to interrupt your Sunday afternoon, but I was hoping to borrow your husband for a tick. Would you mind putting him on the line?”

Dot assented, and Hugh, who had likely been standing next to her, answered the phone with an eager, “Sir?” Jack could hear the twins crying in the background, so his Senior Constable was probably anxious to make an escape.

“Collins, I’m sure your wife has filled you in on the basics?”

“Yes, sir. The Lin baby has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom.”

“Miss Fisher has determined that Mr. Lin’s uncle, Lin Feng, is one of the kidnappers, and is probably the one who took her from the house. And we think Billo Smythe is another one of them.

“Billo Smythe? He’s an unpleasant fella, although I didn’t think he’d resort to kidnapping.” Hugh sounded surprised.

“He was keeping an eye on the Lin warehouse, and it’s likely he knew Lin Feng from the docks. We think Lin Feng recruited him, mostly because he couldn’t keep Iris anywhere near Little Bourke Street.”

“And you want me to swing by his house to see what’s going on, sir?”

Jack half-smiled at the telephone. “Precisely. Then if you could please rendezvous with us at Miss Fisher’s house…”

“Yes, sir. Shouldn’t take more than an hour. I’ll get right on it.” 

“Thank you, Collins,” Jack replied then hung up. “Now, Mr. Lin, while we wait for your estimable cousin to report back, we need to find a way to get me out of here without being noticed.”

*****

In the half hour it took Tommy to confirm his father’s, as well as any kidnapped child’s, absence from the hovel he called home, and return to the warehouse, Jack had undergone a miraculous transformation.

After five minutes spent convincing Lin Chung that smuggling him out in the back of a lorry would be too obvious—they never drove the lorries on Sundays and certainly not into St. Kilda and Lin Chung never drove them anyhow—and another five convincing him that if Lin were to give the appearance of readying the ransom he should first return home to Camellia rather than reporting directly to the Wardlow, Jack finally put Lin Chung’s unique past as an illusionist to use. It also helped that the Lins imported various cosmetics and theatrical supplies.

Where once the tall, proud Detective Inspector stood, a gray and wrinkled coolie in a broad straw hat stooped. The costume was a bit provincial, but some of the older farm gardeners wore similar outfits into town whilst delivering produce. The wig itched and the putty and greasepaint felt like mud on his face, but Jack felt he could manage the role for a few miles—if it did not all melt off. At least he did not have to trip and stumble over one of those silly patter songs that had put him off operettas forever.

The result was so comical that Tommy burst into infectious laughter. When he could finally breathe, he ribbed Lin Chung, “Cousin, you did our people no good service with this. He looks like one of those terrible fake Chinese pirates from that talking picture last year. Well, not the clothes, but that face paint! Good thing you’re wearing that hat.”

“Mr. Lin, could you please remind your cousin that I do this out of duty?” Jack asked dryly. He, too, could appreciate the ridiculousness of the situation. He just hoped he would arrive home before Phryne. He would never hear the end of this if she saw him attired thusly.

*****

Jack dumped his sack of vegetables on the kitchen stoop of the Wardlow and saw, to his chagrin, that both the Hispano and the red raggers’ cab occupied the drive and everyone was seated around the kitchen table with glasses of squash or bottles of beer, hungrily devouring Mr. B’s ginger biscuits. Jack hoped Mr. B put aside a few for him.

Best to get this over with, he thought while squaring his shoulders and striding through the door.

Silence hung in the air for a brief moment as the crowd tried to process the spectacle before them. Then the sniggering began as everyone bit their lips in an attempt not to laugh out-right at the usually stalwart inspector.

Phryne was the first to laugh out loud, “Jack! All the world’s a stage, I know, but there are better places to rehearse than the streets of Melbourne. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were having another go at Third Pirate.” Her eyes were bright with amusement.

“Oi. I think the hat suits him,” Bert drawled.

“Nah, mate. It hides too much of his pretty face,” Cec teased.

Jack smiled stiffly beneath the long, pasted on mustache, but his eyes sparkled at Phryne. He had noticed her wearing his shirt, and it had just become his new favorite. When this pregnancy was long past, and even when their child was full grown, he knew he would still remember her like this: eyes shining with laughter, face glowing above his collar. Suddenly he did not mind being the source of such mirth.

“Now, gentlemen, lady. If you’ll excuse me…” He put his hands together and executed a deep, sarcastic bow and left to find a vat of Phryne’s cold cream large enough to eradicate every trace of greasepaint.

Phryne grinned broadly at his back as he trod out the kitchen. She reminded herself to thank Lin Chung when she saw him for producing such a sight. Jack really was far too tall and broad-shouldered to pass as a wizened Chinaman, but he had played the part with aplomb. And that mustache…dreadful. It really did not suit him one bit, although the thought of Jack’s soft whiskers against her inner thigh sent a frisson of delight down Phryne’s spine.

Collins’ arrival disrupted her train of thought. He, too, appeared to be in costume, since Dot would never let him out of the house looking so ratty. His brown pants were frayed at the cuff and held up by well-worn suspenders. His shirt might have been white once upon a time but dirt and grease had dyed it an indeterminate shade of tan gray. His shoes were out at the heel, and his cap had seen much better days. He made a charming scamp.

“Hugh,” Phryne said delightedly, “come in. Mr. B, please get—” Mr. Butler was already handing Hugh a frosted glass of orange squash. “I assume Jack sent you out to scout?”

“Good day, Miss Fisher. I had a peek at Billo Smythe’s place, and it looks like they’re holed up there.”

“Billo Smythe?” Cec interjected.

“That bas— bloke?” Burt rejoined. “It’s men like him set the cause back.”

“Yeah,” Cec agreed. “Claims to be communist, taking from the rich to give to the poor, but really just a thief. Gives the rest of us a bad name.”

“In it for himself.” Burt shook his head in disgust. “And wild, too. Hasn’t gone off half-cocked yet, but you can see it in his eyes.”

“Well I’m sure Hugh was very careful, weren’t you Hugh?” Phryne solicited. The young man nodded, as his mouth was full of ginger biscuit. “Now, how many are there? And what is the layout of the house? We need to know exactly what we’re up against.”

“We, Miss Fisher?” a much cleaner and properly attired Jack asked from the doorway.

“Of course, Jack. It’s what we do,” she said matter-of-factly.

Jack sat in the chair next to her, drawing her feet into his lap. Hugh looked abashed at the intimacy of the gesture. He and Dottie would never…well, not in public.

Jack stroked a thumb over Phryne’s swollen ankle. “It’s what the two of us do, Phryne,” he gently reminded her. That was as far as he would go. He could not tell her to stay home, to throw her pregnancy in her face as a reason to exclude her. That would only make her resentful, and he had sworn to himself that he would never make her regret her decision to keep their child and marry him. But the thought of his entire world being in danger, that was unthinkable.

Phryne read the worry in her husband’s face, saw all he left unsaid in his expressive eyes. She patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Jack. I’m not fit for a stake-out these days.”

That was a little too easy, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From my basic research, it looks like both orchid and iris have a common character. If that's not the fact, please forgive the plot device. The poem quoted is by Zhang Jiuling:
> 
> ORCHID AND ORANGE I
> 
> Tender orchid-leaves in spring  
> And cinnamon- blossoms bright in autumn  
> Are as self- contained as life is,  
> Which conforms them to the seasons.  
> Yet why will you think that a forest-hermit,  
> Allured by sweet winds and contented with beauty,  
> Would no more ask to-be transplanted  
> Than Would any other natural flower?
> 
> The image of Jack disguised as a coolie is intended to be utterly ridiculous - as ridiculous as Sean Connery playing James Bond playing a Japanese man in "You Only Live Twice." I mean, seriously.
> 
> Once again, beta services supplied by the lovely slimwhistler. All mistakes are my own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The penny drops, and the trap is sprung.

Lin Chung arrived at dusk. He had exchanged his Saville Row suit for a dark set of pants and shirt that barely whispered when he moved. He reminded Phryne of a lithe, very lethal feline, like one of those South American jaguars she and Jane had seen at the circus. She had hated seeing those proud cats penned, and Lin Chung was now pacing the kitchen in a similar manner.

Except for one notable instance, Phyrne had always ended things amicably with her lovers. Lin was no exception. He had graciously taken her hand and thanked her for her assistance. His eyes might have widened slightly at her changed figure, but perhaps she just imagined that. It was, after all, the first time she had seen him since their rescue of Camellia, and she would rather have been more elegantly clad. Then again, she was sure he felt the same way. Or would have had their meeting been under different circumstances.

“So, to make sure I understand: We take our positions around the house. Bert and Cec will be in the car. Constable Collins will be at the front door; Inspector, you at the rear; and I will slip in through the second bedroom window. Correct?” The two policemen nodded.

“Then the constable will create a distraction, while we subdue the other man and get Iris?”

“Yes. And if we see more than two, we can call in Bert and Cec for back-up,” Collins amended.

“If?” Phryne’s voice rose with the question. “That seems to leave quite a bit to chance, Hugh.”

“Not at all, Miss Fisher. I’ve been watching them all evening, and I’ve only seen the two men.”

“But surely they must have known associates,” Phryne pressed.

"All of Billo’s are in jail after their slip up at the docks,” Jack reassured her.

“And my uncle only forged the Triad symbol. Opium eaters isolate themselves with their addiction, so he has no associates,” Lin added. “Besides, we must get Iris before midnight. They’ll be expecting me at the docks, and if I’m not there, they’ll know we’re not playing by their rules.”

The last glimmers of sunlight slipped off the kitchen walls, and the purple twilight enshrouded them. Phryne shivered, and Jack placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She reached up to cover it with her own and leaned her head against his forearm. Her raven bob swung back from cheeks made luminous by the darkness.

She was right to worry, Jack thought. He had his own reservations about this hasty scheme. _If it be not now, yet it will come—the readiness is all._

He would much rather have called in a few more constables for back-up, and it seemed as they were willfully ignoring that there might be more coconspirators. Yet he also knew that if he and Hugh did not help him, Lin would blaze in on his own and likely get himself—and his daughter—killed. Not that Jack could blame him. If the tables were reversed, he would do the same. 

“Gentlemen, it is time.”

*****

As soon as the men left, the house fell eerily quiet. Phryne, uncharacteristically, sat in the kitchen rather than her window seat, but having Mr. Butler puttering nearby in the pantry was comforting. Maybe it was just the pregnancy and all its varying moods, but she had a bad feeling about this rescue attempt. 

It was too easy. Orchestrating the actual kidnapping with just two men, one of whom had a key to the virtually empty Lin compound, seemed feasible, but the aftermath surely required more manpower. If Billo Smythe had been watching the warehouse and following “Jack” and Lin Feng had been minding Iris, who would have kept an eye on the compound? They would not have left it unguarded.

Suddenly two white faces appeared in the kitchen door window, startling Phryne into dropping her glass as her hands flew to protect her belly. The instinctive panic (damn hormones) faded as Phryne recognized Camellia. Mr. Butler rushed from the pantry. “Is everything alright, Miss?”

“The glass slipped from my hand, that’s all, Mr. B. Could you please let Camellia and her companion in?”

Mr. Butler ushered Camellia and Tommy inside then began sweeping up the glass.

After introducing Tommy, Camellia announced, “Phryne, I’m worried. Something doesn’t feel right in all this. It’s too…simple.”

“I whole-heartedly agree, Camellia. This has all the earmarkings of a trap. Tommy,” she turned a piercing gazing on him, “are you sure your father has no one he might have coerced into helping?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean…I don’t think…” He stopped for a deep breath, and the color that had risen under Phryne’s direct stare faded. “I did notice that all my father’s clothes were clean today.” Phryne raised her eyebrows in question. “See, I usually collect his clothes for the laundry, since he doesn’t think to do it himself. So someone else must be looking after him.”

“That doesn’t mean the person is involved in this. It could be one of those benevolent society charity workers,” Camellia countered.

“There was also a dish of pickled radishes.”

“That’s common enough in a Chinese household,” Camellia dismissed.

“But they were cut like lotuses,” Tommy insisted.

Camellia’s face paled, and her knees started to wobble. “Tommy,” Phryne warned just as Camellia started to dip. Tommy caught Camellia beneath the arms and guided her to a chair Mr. Butler provided.

“Forgive my ignorance,” Phryne began once Camellia felt sufficiently revived, “but what threat do pickled radishes pose?”

“It’s how they were cut,” Camellia replied. “Jade Lotus—the nanny—makes pickled radishes that look like lotuses.”

“I’m sure she’s not the only one.”

“She is,” Tommy said emphatically. “The petals are very delicate, but somehow she keeps them intact during pickling. No one else has been able to mimic them.”

“So if your father has them at his place—” Phryne started.

“—then she must have given them to him—” Tommy followed.

“—and she must have been a part of this the whole time,” Camellia finished. The Communist fighter bride stood from her chair, her jaw set with grim determination. “I will kill her.” Phryne did not doubt that she meant it.

The clock in the hallway bonged hollowly, signaling the top of the hour. Phryne realized, with a jolt, that the men had been gone for over half an hour, which meant that they were surely lying in wait around Smythe’s bungalow. Her eyes widened. “If she was Lin Feng’s eyes on the inside, then she must have learned of our plans and told him about them. They’ve walked straight into a trap.”

The two women looked at one another knowingly, then Phryne swung from her chair with surprising alacrity for one so burdened. “Mr. B, the car! And grab the Mauser.” 

Tommy glanced about wildly. “Wha—?” 

Phryne spoke over her shoulder from the doorway, “Do keep up, dear boy. We’re going to rescue them.” She returned moments later with her pearl handled Beretta in hand. She spun the chamber, ascertaining that her pistol was fully loaded. Her blue eyes chilled to flinty gray, and for once, Tommy disagreed with his Granny Lin. This was no Fox Spirit. This was a warrior.

*****

Mr. Butler let the Hispano quietly idle towards the bungalow, and it slipped into place behind Burt and Cec’s cab. Mauser in hand, he quickly alit from the driver seat to check on the two cabbies. He had grown fond of them, as fellow brothers in arms (albeit of different wars), and he hoped no harm had come to them. Fortunately he heard deep snores coming from the front seat before he saw the two men slumped against one another, a strange thermos between them.

“Drugged,” Miss Fisher’s voice appeared at his ear. 

“It appears so, Miss.”

“Probably the nanny,” Phryne hazarded a guess. “They wouldn’t have accepted anything from a strange man on a stake-out, but a seemingly innocuous woman… They never will learn, will they?”

“One can hope, Miss.” Mr. Butler spared the two men one last sympathetic glance as he pocketed the Mauser. After effects always were rather unpleasant (the hashish and Murdoch Foyle’s paralyzing cocktail taught him that), not to mention the blow to their pride—although Miss Fisher would never be so crass as to call them to task, which almost made their predicament worse. 

A hissing intake of breath from the other side of the cab arrested his attention. 

“I don’t envy those blokes when they wake up,” Tommy said. “They’ll have bonzer headaches.”

Camellia’s quiet voice appeared at Phryne and Mr. B’s shoulders. “Sleeping Crane. It sends men into deep slumbers, sometimes lasting days, and you can barely detect it, except for the faint scent of asparagus. If Jade Lotus can brew that, she’s a much greater adversary than we feared.”

“How so?” Phryne queried.

“It is a secret recipe passed down over centuries among the warrior nuns of the Black Crane Temple. Jade Lotus must have trained with them.”

“Yes, but we have the advantage of surprise.”

“And I have nothing to lose.” The finality in Camellia’s voice was dreadful to hear, and Tommy shuddered to think what havoc his tiny cousin would loose on those who wronged her.

“Mr. B, you’ll stay here with the Hispano and these two,” she gestured towards the sleeping cabbies. “If you hear gunshots, the gig’s up, so come roaring like the cavalry. You have the Mauser?”

Mr. Butler patted his jacket in response.

“Good. Camellia, Tommy, let’s go,” she directed.

The trio fell into a single-file line with Phryne in the lead, and they picked their way down a side alley to approach the bungalow from the back, taking especial care not to knock over the stacked boxes or piles of rubbish slumped against the fence, which courteously lacked the occasional slat and allowed glimpses of the house. They were nearing the back gate and could just make out figures in the lit rear window when an ill-placed step sent a bottle skittering from beneath Tommy’s foot. Phryne masked his soft curse with an excellent imitation of a cat yowl, and the head which had appeared from the rear door retreated back inside. Billo Smythe, she was sure of it.

After a pause—during which Tommy futilely tried to slow his racing heartbeat—Phryne jimmied the latch. Before easing the gate open, however, she whistled three notes of the magpie’s call. Common enough a bird not to attract notice, although if Jack were still outside, he would finish it with his own three notes. Silence pressed on her ears, confirming her suspicion that the would-be rescuers were imprisoned inside. 

A dilapidated horse cart inside the fence provided the perfect cover for a better look, and the three skulked behind it. Behind the cracked kitchen window panes and tattered lace curtains, they could see Hugh, Jack, and Lin Chung tied to chairs lined against the back kitchen wall, and the corner of a bassinet was just visible to one side. Phryne could see Jack’s eyes searching the darkness outside, so he at least recognized her call. She hoped he was working his hands loose, since the kidnappers were unlikely to go down easily. 

The villains were arrayed before their captives. Jade Lotus, calm and much prettier than Phryne imagined, slouched against the table with a dispassionate look on her porcelain face, obviously biding her time while her two companions postured. Billo Smythe, with his carefully pomaded blonde hair and natty suit, distractedly toyed with the handle of a gun (probably Jack’s) stuffed into his waistband. His furrowed brow indicated some disagreement with Lin Feng, who was—Tommy gasped in shock—waving a pistol wildly in front of Lin Chung’s face. Had his father gone mad?

“Camellia, Tommy, can you get in through that window?” Phryne gestured at the partially opened window along the side of the house.

“If Tommy lifts me,” Camellia replied.

“Good. Once you’re in, get to the kitchen door. When you hear another loud magpie whistle, rush in. I’ll be outside the kitchen window covering you.”

The cousins nodded and crept to the house. Beneath the window, Camellia placed one tiny foot in Tommy’s interlocked hands, and he lifted her easily. The window went up, she shimmied inside, and then Tommy disappeared after her.

Phryne started counting back from sixty and snuck towards the kitchen window. Slowly, slowly, she cautioned herself. Give them time to get into place.

Then suddenly, there was no time.

Billo Smythe snapped. The madness that had been lurking behind his eyes erupted on his face. “That’s enough of your bloody jabbering,” he bawled at Lin Feng. “Ping pong ding dong. Talk English for Chrissake!” Lin Feng looked at him, stunned. “Better yet, you’re done talking.”

Smythe pulled the gun from his waistband and put his face right next to Lin Chung’s. “Now, Chink, where’s the money?” His voice was low, dangerous.

“I…I don’t have ten thousand pounds ready,” Lin stammered. “I can give you five.”

Smythe tossed his head back with a roar of laughter. (He’s mental, Phryne thought.) “I don’t want five. I want ten. And since I have you and your daughter here, and I know where your precious wife is, you’ll give me ten.” He sidestepped towards Hugh. “But just so you know I’m in earnest, I’ll kill this copper right here. Right now. Never liked him much anyways.” The gun started pointing towards Hugh’s temple.

“Smythe!” Jade Lotus’s voice cut through the air. “Enough! We’ll get—”

“But this is so. Much. FUN!” Smythe cackled as he pressed the gun to Hugh’s head.

Jade Lotus shrugged. They would have to kill them all, anyways. Billo might as well be the one to pull the trigger.

The gun’s muzzle felt like a hot poker pressed against his temple, searing towards his brain. Hugh squeezed his eyes shut, could hear Inspector Robinson yelling something garbled, primal. He had always heard that in a man’s final moments, his life flashes before his eyes. He had no flash—only Dot’s steady, smiling gaze—and the regret that his sons, too, would grow up without a father.

A deafening bang filled the small, shabby kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Hamlet. I'd recommend watching "Slings and Arrows" season 1if you want to see some extraordinary Hamlet.
> 
> Jade Fist would be a doppelganger to Ng Mui, the Shaolin nun who created the Wing Chun Kuen, White Crane, and Five-Pattern Hung Kuen styles of martial arts at the White Crane Temple. I'm pretty sure Quentin Tarantio took his five finger exploding heart technique from her...
> 
> Beta services yet again credited to the wonderful slimwhistler. Any mistakes are my own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which villains are unmasked, true characters revealed, and suitable vestments donned.

His blood felt hot on his hands. Funny, that this feeling would be his last. He thought it would hurt more. Then Hugh opened his eyes.

Outside the window, light glinted off the steady barrel of a gold Beretta and Phryne’s burning eyes. Billo Smythe was writhing on the floor in a pool of his blood, clutching his shattered shoulder with his good arm. The gun that had so recently been pressed against Hugh’s head had skittered near the door.

Camellia and Tommy crashed into the kitchen. Tommy scooped up Jack’s gun and aimed it at his father, while Camellia took a flying leap at Jade Lotus with a remarkably tiger-like snarl.

Whatever training Jade Lotus might have had at the Black Crane Temple was no match for Camellia’s ferocity, her onslaught fueled by maternal rage and her grossly violated trust. Her arms swung sharp like blades and legs lashed like whips, and Jade Lotus fell before her. With a final shriek, Camellia pounced on top her, pinning her down in a choke hold and grinding the smooth porcelain face against the jagged tile floor.

Jack had managed to free his hands and passed her the rope, and Camellia ungently bound Jade Lotus’s arms together. “Dog!” the other woman shrilled.

“And you are a snake in the grass, Jade Lotus!” Camellia retorted. “How could you betray my family like this?”

“Because I am Jade Fist, a Black Crane,” the trussed woman defied. “I am a warrior! I do not live by your rules.” She began to mock in a high falsetto, “Jade Lotus, please change darling Iris’s nappy. What wonderful radishes. What lovely needle work.” Her tone hardened, “Jade Fist does not serve such weak masters!”

“Then who do you serve?” Lin Chung’s voice cut like steel.

Jade Fist only glared at him.

The fight between Camellia and Jade Fist had distracted Tommy, so his cover on his father had loosened considerably. In the confusion of binding the former nanny and freeing the captives, Lin Feng managed to go largely unnoticed in the corner by the bassinet with its obviously drugged inhabitant. Lin Feng’s claw-like arm suddenly snaked down to grab Iris, who whimpered as her head lolled back.

“My baby!” Camellia screamed as Lin Feng trained his gun on the infant.

“Stay back, or I’ll shoot,” he threatened.

“What have you done to her?” Camellia wailed.

Jack tried slipping to the side to get within reach of the man, while Phryne tried to line up a better angle of fire. Lin Feng noticed both.

“Not one step closer!”

“Father,” Tommy implored. “Father, please don’t hurt her. She’s just a baby.”

“And she’s in the way of everything. Ruining all my plans,” Lin Feng snarled. “If my nephew hadn’t named her his heir, you would have inherited everything, my son.”

Tommy looked confusedly at Lin Chung. “I…Cousin, I had no idea.”

Lin kept his eyes trained on Iris and Lin Feng but answered his cousin, “If I die without a named successor, you take over the family business, Tommy.”

“But I never thought…I mean, with my father…”

“You would have thought that the disgrace of your father meant that you, too, were disgraced,” Lin stated.

“Well, yes.” Tommy’s head drooped in shame.

“Tommy, I of all people know that sons do not assume the sins of their fathers.” But brothers seem to share many, Lin thought sadly. The he addressed his uncle, “I have always planned to take care of Tommy. You have no need to harm my family or me to make that happen.”

“It’s not about him, you fool. I’m doing this for me—me and my dead brother. You did nothing to help him, and you banished me from your home. You are a selfish, ungrateful boy with no sense of loyalty to your family or ancestors.” Lin Feng whined.

“Selfish? Ungrateful?” Lin roared. “I pulled this family back from the brink of poverty. I restored our fortunes with Camellia’s help—fortunes, I might add, that you and my father seemed determined to squander on opium and whores! It is you, Uncle, who are the selfish and ungrateful one.”

“Perhaps,” Lin Feng said with a sly look, “but I still seem to have the upper hand.” He jostled Iris in his arms, eliciting another whimper. By this time, Lin Feng had edged his way towards the interior door, keeping the gun pressed against Iris and therefore the others at bay.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Camellia pleaded, trying to close the distance from her child until she noticed Lin Feng’s finger twitching on the trigger. She bit on her knuckles to muffle a cry while her other hand sought her husband’s.

“So now what, Mr. Lin?” Jack calmly asked Lin Feng. “If you kill her, you will hang—that is, if Lin Chung and Camellia let you out of this room alive.”

“And I don’t feel inclined to stop them in this instance,” Phryne added from the window. Jack gave a half-smile in her direction. No, maybe not in this instance. 

“Nor I, Father,” Tommy warned.

“No. I won’t do that. Yet. But I’m taking her with me. You’ll get her back once I’m on a boat to Hong Kong and ten thousand pounds richer. And if I don’t have the money—well, I don’t suppose you’ve taught her how to swim?”

“Be rational, man!” Hugh had finally recovered enough from his close encounter with death to speak. “We’ll hunt you down. We’ll catch you before you even step foot on a boat. You have nowhere to go, no one to turn to—”

“Haven’t I?” The sly look returned to Lin Feng’s face, and then he pivoted on his heel and attempted to dart out the door.

Only to run head-first into a Mauser gripped by the estimable Mr. Butler.

Lin Feng whirled about like a trapped animal, a frantic look crawling across his face. He fled to the back door, where Phryne and her Beretta met him. He howled and shrank back into his corner, eyes darting from side to side, desperately seeking an escape route that was not there.

“You ruined my life,” he screeched as he gripped Iris tightly, angling his gun so the shot would burst through her tiny chest and into his. He squeezed the unyielding trigger, and Camellia and Tommy rushed him with terrified yells.

No gunshot. No click of an empty chamber. Lin Chung gave a sigh of relief, happy he had brought a prop gun.

Lin Feng sank to the floor, shuddering sobs wracking his wasted addict’s body.

Camellia snatched her daughter from his limp arms and began fussing over her, and Lin Chung gathered them both in his arms. Tears of joy poured down their faces. 

Tommy cried, too, as he stooped over his father to help him up, although he could not pinpoint the reason—filial elation that his father still lived, humiliation that his father had dishonored the family, gratitude towards his cousin, complete bewilderment at how he could ever atone for his father’s transgressions, not to mention the sudden drop in adrenaline. He felt his father’s knobbly hand pat his own, and saw through his own tears that his father’s had dried. The older man had a pleading look on his face, and Tommy bent his head towards him, expecting some form of apology. 

“Opium,” Lin Feng whispered. “Please. I need it.” Tommy drew back in disgust. The man was despicable.

“Parker and Simms are en route with the paddy wagon,” Hugh called from the foyer.

Those words sparked another bout of weeping in Lin Feng. “Please,” he begged. “One more pipe before the jacks take me, please, dear boy. Otherwise, I can’t bear it. Please.” His hands clawed at Tommy’s pant leg. Tommy nearly kicked at him, until he absorbed what a pathetic picture his father made with blood-shot eyes and snot and tears mingling on his chin. He no longer felt any loyalty to his father (a man can go too far), but he did feel some modicum of pity—although no regret when he handed his father over to the large and capable Constable Simms.

*****

An arm snaked around Jack’s waist as he watched the constables load Billo Smythe’s stretcher into the paddy wagon behind the sniveling Lin Feng and the immutable Jade Fist. Mr. Butler had done an excellent job bandaging Smythe’s wound, although Jack suspected he would have only limited use of that arm thereafter—not that it would matter much, since he was probably bound for a strait jacket once it healed.

Jack peered into his wife’s pale face and wrapped his own arm around her shoulders. “I’m glad that’s over,” he remarked.

“And quite neatly, all things considered,” Phryne replied blithely, although Jack could tell the attitude was superficial. They were both rattled by the experience, not that this adventure held significantly more peril than the detectives’ previous cases—but the danger had assumed a much different flavor for the parents-to-be.

“Oh, I think there are still some loose ends. I’m curious about these mysterious 'masters' of Jade Fist’s.”

“And to whom Lin Feng was alluding when he denied being friendless,” Phryne agreed.

“All good questions for tomorrow.” He could see how much effort it took for Phryne to keep standing. She would deny it, but she needed to get home to bed. Late night interrogations were a bit too taxing for an expectant mother.

“Jack, maybe it really is Triad,” she exclaimed as she unprotestingly allowed Jack to usher her into the passenger seat of the Hispano. Quite possibly, he thought, but any further discussion was deferred; by the time he and Mr. Butler had loaded the two cabbies into the back, she was soundly asleep. He smiled fondly at her, grateful she was as headstrong as the day he met her. The night might have gone much differently if she had not arrived with reinforcements.

He was not the only one to think so, apparently. Lin Chung silently approached them, and the two men clasped hands. “Inspector Robinson,” Lin Chung started.

“Please, call me Jack.”

“And please call me Lin. I have no words to properly thank you—you or your wife.” He directed a thoughtful smile at Phryne. “When I think of what could have happened… I don’t think either Iris or I were supposed to make it out of this alive.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you. This seems to just scratch the surface.”

“Triad,” Lin said grimly.

Jack nodded in agreement. “I think they intended to remove you and Iris so that they could install Tommy as a figurehead and use your business as a front for their dealings here in Melbourne.”

“They might try again.”

“I have no doubt, although I’m sure Tommy would not be a willing participant.”

Lin glanced over at Tommy. “I promised to take care of him, but the risk…” He trailed off pensively.

“How do you think he’d like policework?” Jack asked, and Lin looked at him in amazement. “We need someone who can speak the language on the force, especially if the Triad starts moving in.”

“Even with his father a convicted criminal?” Lin asked incredulously.

“As you said yourself, the sins of the father should not be visited on the son. I’ll ask him tomorrow, but you should take care of your family first. Get everyone home and settled.” Jack shook his hand once more. “I’ll be by mid-morning to take statements.”

Lin climbed into the cab with his wife and daughter, now sleeping peacefully against her mother’s chest. It would take another day for the drugs to wear off completely, but she seemed unharmed. In the front with Mr. Butler sat Tommy, hunched with worry. Lin reached forward and clasped his shoulder. “It will be alright, Cousin,” he reassured. The younger man smiled weakly back at him, but the mortification in his eyes faded. “I promise.”

Jack watched from behind the wheel of the Hispano as the cab departed for the Lin compound and the paddy wagon for the station. He eased the car into gear for a gentle ride back to the Wardlow. He and Hugh had a long night ahead of them, but he had his own family to tend to first.

He left the cabbies sleeping in the garage while he carried Phryne into the house and up the stairs to her boudoir. She was rather heavier now, but he would be the last person to mention this to her. He stretched her out on their bed and set about removing shoes and scarves and skirts. He left his shirt on her, however. She looked so beautiful like this.

Phryne rolled to her side and cracked an eyelid. “Jack,” she murmured.

“Shhh. Sleep, my peerless Phryne.” He took her smooth, white hand in his callused, browned ones and kissed her damp forehead. “ _We that are true lovers run into strange capers._ ”

Before leaving, he turned on the fan.

*****

The frocks from House of Fleuri had arrived, which had proven providential, for this morning Phryne’s favorite robe had refused to close. Jack had already been at the station for hours and was likely to be there hours more (heat waves and crime waves went hand in hand), so Phryne decided to settle in for a long sulk. Even Dot’s promise of lobster mayonnaise refused to lift her dour mood. What good was lobster mayonnaise if she could not clothe herself to venture downstairs and eat it? Even the shuffling of paper and parcels in the foyer refused to pique her interest, until Dot burst into the room with arms full of frocks.

Lovely frocks. Glorious frocks. Frocks of linen and silk and georgette. Phryne refused to wear pale pink whilst pregnant (too sow-like), but nearly every other color burst into her vision. Frocks the color of sherbet spilled out of boxes. Another held the myriad colors of the sea. One was entirely of cool white. She reached eagerly for a linen shift in sky blue embroidered with yellow lilies and green ferns along the neckline and hem, and nearly cackled with glee as it slid unhindered over her warm skin.

“Dot! I’ll have lobster mayonnaise after all. And maybe a _salade russe_? And maybe just the tiniest glass of champagne—just a mouthful—this is cause for celebration.” Dot headed for the door. “Actually, skip the champagne. I’ll wait for Jack.”

Well-fed and much more comfortable, Phryne settled into the window seat with the latest Dorothy Sayers novel. She liked this Harriet Vane character, with her moral certitude and Bohemian lifestyle, and she could completely sympathize with her refusal to marry either Phillip Boyes or Lord Peter Wimsey. After all, remaining unmarried could be as much a moral stance as getting married. Not that marriage was treating her poorly.

Phryne heard Jack’s familiar footsteps on the walk and Mr. B greeting him at the door. “ _Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor and like enough to consent_ ,” she called.

He laughed. (He did that more frequently now.) Divested of hat, he came into the parlor laden with a box wrapped in splendid silver paper. He stopped short when he saw her new dress. “ _O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear._ ”

Phryne took no umbrage at the quote. After all, the fool frequently had the best part, and she loved her colors.

“Jack!” She smiled broadly. “Do you come bearing gifts?”

“I think you’ve had surprises enough, if Madame Fleuri’s frocks arrived today,” he teased.

She pouted prettily, and he pretended to wrestle with his decision. With an exaggerated sigh, he gave in. “The mother of my child deserves barges of beaten gold and oars of silver, dimple cheeked boys waving divers-colored fans, and perfumed air, but would she please accept this humble offering from a weary soldier?”

He handed her the box and took her feet into his lap.

With child-like delight (who didn’t like presents) she tore off the wrapping and sent clouds of tissue paper flying into the air. Jack loved Phryne in this playful, contagious mood, and he found himself grinning from ear to ear.

“Jack,” she said with awe when she uncovered her surprise. “Jack, it’s glorious.” She shook out a dressing gown of the richest Phoenician purple, and the fine silk wafted in the air. It was woven into an acanthus pattern and liberally scattered with laurel leaves picked in fine gold threads. Its belt resembled nothing less than a laurel crown, like a Roman Emperor would wear on his triumph through the streets of Rome.

“Egypt, thou have conquered me.” And conquered him she had. He had bound himself to her, body and soul, and he knew he would do anything she asked of him. His already husky voice sank even farther, “ _Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods command me._ ” 

“Then,” Phryne swung her feet off his lap and stood proudly before him, “ _Give me my robe, put on my crown._ ” She gave a wicked grin, “I have immoral longings in me.”

Jack stood, bowed with a flourish, and pulled the robe over her bare shoulders. The silk slithered over her skin like liquid. He drew her close for a searing kiss and then followed her up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final installment! I hope y'all have enjoyed it.
> 
> Quotes from "As You Like It" and, of course, "Antony and Cleopatra." 
> 
> Beta credit goes to the lovely slimwhistler. Any mistakes are my own.

**Author's Note:**

> My own characters were being recalcitrant, so I decided to take a literary romp with the lovely ones already developed by Kerry Greenwood and brought to life by the wonderful cast and crew of MFMM.
> 
> Slimwhistler sparked this entire story with a few lines in "Nomenclature" about Phryne's dressing gown, and I found myself wondering how anything could ever replace the magnificent "fighting cocks" robe. Obviously it would have to come with a mystery to be something special, and why not throw a former lover into the mix?
> 
> I attempted to write this story in the vernacular, so certain "cultural descriptors" may not seem appropriate in this day and age. Please do not take them as a reflection of my personal views.
> 
> Beta credit goes to the delightful slimwhistler, who also let me tag onto her storyline (with a pre-approved few departures to advance the plot). Any mistakes are my own.


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